Time Like a Wheel
by vandevere
Summary: It goes around and around...
1. Chapter 1

_It's early morning, the day after Mickey Scott's execution. Jack McCoy is entering Manhattan General Hospital. He's not entirely sober yet, but the voicemail on his phone was too important to wait until later._

 _Lennie Briscoe's voice, sounding ragged._

 _"_ _Jack! Get to Manhattan General! There's been an accident. Claire Kincaid…"_

 _His voice broke then, thick with tears._

 _"_ _She's hurt, Jack. Bad…"_

 _Jack McCoy runs into the Main Entrance. He knows he reeks of scotch, but right now, he simply doesn't care._

 _"_ _Claire Kincaid…" he asks the receptionist, and, concern in her eyes, the receptionist tells him._

 _When he gets there, Jack McCoy hears the sound of retching. That's Lennie in Treatment Room One. He's looking worse than he did last time McCoy saw him earlier in the night, in the bar with Mike._

 ** _He's drunk_** _, McCoy realizes._

 _But Lennie isn't the reason Jack's here. He walks over to the next room, Treatment Two._

 _Claire Kincaid is there, body covered by a white sheet. Her mother is there, accompanied by Mac Geller._

 _The On-Call Doctor is there too, talking to Claire's mother and Geller._

 _Cause of death was a traumatic skull fracture, pieces of Claire Kincaid's skull embedded in her brain…_

 ** _She's dead. If I hadn't called her to come pick me up, if I hadn't decided to walk out before she arrived…_**

 _Jack McCoy can't complete the thought. But he knows…_

 _It may have been a drunk driver who hit her car, but Jack McCoy is the one who is responsible for Claire Kincaid's death…_

…..

 _2008_

 _1 Hogan Place_

It all felt just a little unreal to Jack McCoy.

 _I'm the District DA…_

Arthur Branch had left the DA's Office, seeking a bigger arena, and nominated McCoy to be the Interim DA…

"Close your mouth, Jack," Branch had ribbed him at the time. "You don't want to swallow a fly…"

After that had followed all the accolades, the calls from friends.

The call from Adam Schiff, invoking what he called the _Parental Curse…_

"Just wait," he had said over drinks at their favorite bar. "You'll be saddled with an EADA who will turn your hair gray. Just like you did to me."

"I wasn't _that_ bad," McCoy protested. "Was I?"

"You also gave me cause to be proud, my boy," Schiff assured him. "Remember, you're wearing a different hat now, focus on the _big picture_ , let Cutter focus on putting the perps in prison, and you'll be fine."

Now, a few months later, Jack was sitting in his new office, the one used by Schiff, Nora Lewin, and Arthur Branch.

It still felt unreal, made even more so by the murmuring in his head; like the murmuring of the audience before the concert begins.

It felt odd.

Creepy…

Then...a blinding flash of light, and McCoy was back in his apartment, staring down at his phone, the voicemail light blinking. He pressed the button.

"Jack!" Lennie Briscoe's voice, sounding ragged, on the edge of tears. "There's been an accident. Claire Kincaid…She's hurt, Jack. Bad."

Jack McCoy stares down at the phone on the table.

 _What…where…when am I?_


	2. Chapter 2

_Jack McCoy runs into Manhattan General Hospital heads for the Receptionist's Station. He knows he reeks of scotch right now, still intoxicated after the night spent at the bar._

 _Lennie Briscoe had left a message on his phone._

 _"_ _Jack! Get to Manhattan General. There's been an accident…"_

 _Briscoe's voice was slightly slurred as he continued._

 _"_ _Claire Kincaid…Jack, she's hurt. Bad…"_

 _At the Hospital, Jack McCoy hears retching from Treatment Room One._

 _Lennie, drunker than a skunk, heaving his guts, and another time, McCoy would have spared a few minutes for him._

 _But Claire lies in Treatment Room Two, and it's already crowded, with Mac Geller and Claire's Mother, Mary Kincaid._

 _Mary Kincaid is haggard with grief, as she stands over a sheet-covered body._

 _Claire Kincaid…_

 ** _Dead?_**

 _The realization hits McCoy like a slug to the solar plexus, and all of a sudden, his stomach roils. By luck, he locates an unoccupied restroom, and now_ _ **he's**_ _heaving his guts out too…_

…..

 _1 Hogan Place, 2008_

"Close your mouth, Jack," There was humor in Arthur Branch's Texas-accented voice. "You're gonna swallow a fly."

Jack McCoy collapsed into the leather couch just behind, tried to collect his wits.

A native Texan bred and born, Arthur Branch had made no pretense about his equally Texas-sized ambition. He had decided to toss his hat into the coming gubernatorial campaign.

Which meant the position of District DA would very shortly be open; and Arthur Branch had just told McCoy whom he was going to nominate as the Interim Replacement…

" _Breathe_ , Jack," Branch chuckled. "If I didn't think you were up to the challenge, I wouldn't have picked you."

McCoy stood, still feeling a touch shaky.

"Weren't you the one who said I would never be District DA?"

"Well now…" Arthur Branch drawled. "This would be your great opportunity to prove me wrong."

…..

He's paralyzed, surrounded by darkness so total it's _black_. He can't move his arms and legs. Can't open his eyes. Can't even _squeak_ …

Utter terror fills him. He feels a gentle hand touch his hand in a gentle caress.

"Oh…Jack…"

He knows that voice.

Claire Kincaid.

…..

 _He's in his apartment, staring down at his phone as the voicemail plays…_

 _"_ _Jack! Get to Manhattan General. There's been an accident…"_

 _And, as Detective Lennie Briscoe continues, Jack McCoy realizes something._

 ** _I've been here before…_**


	3. Chapter 3

_Jack McCoy is suspended in darkness, bereft of sensation. The darkness has a whispering quality to it, something going_ _ **beep…beep…beep**_ _, in the far distance._

 _He thinks he can also hear voices murmuring somewhere too, and he's sure he could figure out what they're talking about, if only he could concentrate enough, listen carefully enough._

 _But, when he does manage to hear actual words, they just don't make sense._

 ** _Comatose…_**

 ** _Nonresponsive to stimuli…_**

…..

Jack McCoy opened his eyes. For a moment, he wasn't entirely sure where he was.

Or _when_...

He'd had that dream again, about being suspended in whispering darkness, and it never failed to chill…

Later, at Hogan Place, he still felt a hazy sense of dislocation at Jamie Ross' presence; at her occupation of Claire Kincaid's office.

Liz Olivet had said it was a normal emotional reaction at losing a close friend or colleague. What Olivet hadn't known was just how close Jack and Claire had been, how deep the loss went.

But there Jack McCoy was, in his office, going over legal briefs and documents-the Harper Murders were particularly appalling-and planning out his strategy to nail Hank Strohm for the killings.

There was a discreet knock on his office door, and McCoy sighed.

"You don't have to knock, Jamie," he called out. "Come on in and help me out here."

"I'm not Jamie," Serena Southerlyn strolled in. "But I'm more than willing to lend a hand…"

McCoy sat there, pen dropping from suddenly nerveless fingers.

 _But Jamie Ross was...I talked to her over the phone just a moment ago, and she…_

"Are you all right, Jack?" there was deep concern in Abbie Carmichael's voice.

 _"_ _Abbie..?"_ McCoy's voice came out a Harsh croaking squeak.

 _But Serena was here just a second ago…_

"I'm going to call a doctor, Jack," Now, it was Jamie Ross. "You're as white as a sheet."

Under normal circumstance, Jack McCoy would have refused.

"Make it Liz Olivet."

"You sure, Jack?" Now it was Alexandra Borgia, and McCoy barely repressed the whimper of pure terror at seeing her, alive and well, when he knew damn well she was dead.

 _Just like Claire…_

…..

Waiting for Olivet to arrive, Jack McCoy closed his eyes. Abruptly, a memory came to him…

 _At the bar, the night of Claire's death, drinking with Mike, sensing Lennie Briscoe's disapproval. He had already called Claire to come pick him up at the bar._

 _But Lennie's disapproval irritated him._

 ** _So Lennie doesn't drink anymore. That mean I'm not allowed to? Hell with him…_**

 _He stood, pulling on his old faithful shabby green Jacket._

 _"_ _I'm going," he announced._

 _"_ _What about Claire?" Lennie objected. But McCoy was thoroughly pissed off by now. Pissed off at Lennie, pissed off at Claire's high-minded objection to the death penalty…_

 _"_ _To hell with her," he snarled savagely as he turned to leave the bar._

 _As he left the bar, door shutting behind him, there was this sudden squealing of tires, and blindingly brilliant light…_

 _And Jack McCoy was back in his own apartment, staring stupidly at the phone, the voicemail playing, Lennie's heart-broken voice…_

 _"_ _Jack! Get to Manhattan General! There's been an accident…"_

 _Lennie paused to draw in an almost-sobbing breath._

 _"_ _Claire Kincaid…Jack, she's hurt. Bad…"_


	4. Chapter 4

Jack McCoy was sitting in Dr. Olivet's office. She normally specialized in children, but she was also a good friend, and discreet.

 _I can trust her…_

Apparently, she could sense that something was unsettling him.

"What's wrong, Jack?"

But, now that he was here, sitting right in front of Olivet, he had no idea how to proceed.

"It's been six months since Claire's death," Liz reminded him. "Sometimes a close associate's death can upend things."

"I've been through all of the Five Stages, Liz." McCoy swallowed the irritation.

Yeah…

He'd been though all of the Five Stages of Grief.

Repeatedly.

 _Again and again and again…_

McCoy closed his eyes, and said the thing that was really frightening him.

"I think I'm losing my mind…"

"Why would you think that?"

Dr. Emil Skoda's voice almost startled McCoy right out of his skin. He stood, looking down at the psychiatrist who was now sitting in the therapist's chair.

 _I'm really losing it…_

"Jack?" Skoda's voice. "What's going on with you?"

"I was talking to Liz Olivet," McCoy couldn't stop the tremors. "Now, it's you. I don't understand what's happening."

"Just now, you mean?" the psychiatrist frowned.

McCoy tried to find the words to explain, but light flared up, drowning everything in a lightning blaze and discordant shriek…

…..

 _Beep…beep…beep…_

 _Jack McCoy is adrift in the blackness again, arms and legs paralyzed again, and utter terror overwhelms him…_

…..

Jack McCoy is standing in the living room of his small apartment, staring down at the phone as the voice mail plays.

"Jack!" Lennie Briscoe's voice, ragged, on the edge of tears. "There's been an accident. Claire Kincaid…She's hurt, Jack. Bad…"

This time, when Jack McCoy arrives at Manhattan General, he stops to look in on Lennie Briscoe.

Claire Kincaid is dead, after all, and her mother and Mac Geller are both there, and neither would appreciate him intruding upon their grief.

Jack McCoy knows this because he's been through this several times now, seen Claire's death, and the effects on her family and friends…

 _How many times..?_

McCoy's not sure how many times it's been…

Jack steps inside the curtained-off alcove. Lennie Briscoe vomiting into a bowl, and he looks more than half-dead himself; skin gone gray, where it's not pasty white.

And now, Jack McCoy knows what happened.

…..

"Jack…do you know why I'm here?"

Jack McCoy blinked, tried to orient himself.

 _In the District DA's Office…_

 _Sitting at the District DA's desk…_

Dr. Emil Skoda sitting directly across from him.

"Do you know why I'm here?" Skoda repeated himself.

"Yes…" McCoy closed his eyes, remembering the night at the bar, talking to Lennie, and waiting for Claire to come and pick him up.

 _I was pissed off at everyone. Pissed off at Lennie for offering to drive me home. Pissed off at Claire for being late. Pissed off at myself for being pissed off…_

…..

 _At the bar_

"To hell with her…" Jack knows he's losing Claire Kincaid- _like all the other women he's ever loved-_ he knows it; and he also knows there's nothing he can do to stop it.

Jack's not an abusive partner; one sin of the Father that the son was able to avoid.

 _By burying myself in my work…_

The realization was like a knife through the heart.

 _I can't give Claire what she needs…_

So…

 _To hell with her. Let her fly free of me…_

Jack steps outside the bar, onto the late-night city sidewalk.

 _Into blinding light and squealing tires…_

 _…_ _.._

 _Beep…beep…beep…_

Jack's in the ticking, beeping darkness again.

"Do you know why you're here, Jack?"

Dr. Emil Skoda's voice resonates through the darkness. And, yes, Jack knows…finally, he knows why he's here…

"Yes," it occurs to him that he should be terrified.

"It was me," he says. "I was the one who got hit."

"Time to open your eyes, Jack…"

…..

 _Beep…beep…beep…_

That beeping tethered him, anchored him, as the darkness began to roil…

Other sounds began to impinge on his awareness; music in the distance-something electronic with a heavy beat-and also voices, words indistinct…

Now, footsteps…coming closer.

Hands touching, the sound of an indrawn breath.

"Get the doctor!" a woman's voice snapped, and now McCoy heard other feet hurry off.

The darkness receded, and Jack McCoy looked up. Two black shapes outlined against brilliant haze loomed over him, and it took McCoy a moment to process the image.

A nurse.

And Claire Kincaid.

 _Claire Kincaid._

 _Alive._

"Jack!" she was crying, tears running down her cheeks; her hand reaching down to stroke his hand.

"It's been so long…" she wiped her eyes.

A man strode into the small private room.

"The patient's awake?" the Texas-accented voice jolted McCoy.

"Arthur? What are _you_ doing here?"

"I work here," Branch regarded him. "And it's _Doctor_ Branch to you. Chief of Neurology, in fact. I'm the reason you're still around. So, let me ask you a few questions, just to see how compos mentis you are. What's your name?"

"John James McCoy." He felt Claire fiddle with the controls of the bed, bring it up closer to a sitting position.

"You're a doctor?"

"Yeah," Branch retorted. "What did you think I was? A lawyer?"

"Uh…"

There was no way for Jack McCoy to answer that that wouldn't make him sound like an idiot.

 _Or Dorothy Gale…_

So, McCoy waited for the next question.

"Do you know what year it is?"

By the way Branch was looking at him, by the dread he saw in Claire's eyes, he knew this one would be bad. So, his answer was…careful.

"Last I knew, it was May, Nineteen Ninety-six." He looked back up at Branch, a terrible suspicion forming in his mind. "How far off am I?"

"Dr. Branch…" a warning in Claire's voice.

"He's together enough to ask the question," Branch shrugged. "The answer? It's June, Two Thousand _Anno Domine_.

Which meant…

"I've been in a coma for four years..?" his throat felt sandpaper dry.

"There will be physical therapy, Jack," Claire spoke up.

"Who's going to pay for it?" McCoy felt his voice crack a little. "My Medical Insurance is probably all used up."

"Your lady is quite the firecracker," Branch's eyes were twinkling. "And a damn fine lawyer. You're _never_ gonna have to worry about the bills. Ever."

" _Claire..?"_

McCoy tried to move, to sit up. But his arms and legs weren't working quite right.

"I'll explain, Jack," she assured him. "But not now. You need to rest."

There was, however, one question Jack McCoy _had_ to ask.

 _If I've been in a coma for four years…_

"Who is the Executive Assistant DA?"

There was a bit of a hush, Claire Kincaid biting her lip, flushing a little.

"It's me…" she finally said. "Adam made me Acting EADA when the doctors said you were in a coma. Then, after a year, when everyone thought you would never wake up again, Adam made it permanent. Why are you grinning like that? I thought you would be pissed."

But Jack was a realist.

 _Just learning to walk might take years._

But Claire…

"You're here. You're alive…"

Fin


End file.
